


three steps forward, two steps back

by call_me_steve



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: "Damians prob dead" says everyone, ?? what do i tag this with, Again, And they go to the wrong time, Arkham Asylum, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Bruce and Dick are dead in the future, Bruce is kinda stupid but, Character Death, Colin's been referenced, Damian Wayne Feels, Damian Wayne is Batman, Damian's sixteen, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dick loves Damian tbh and it's because he's his SON, Gen, God - Freeform, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Suicidal Thoughts, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Jason's alive but not present, Jon's sixteen too bcuz idk, Koriand'r is Badass too Okay, Maya Ducard is Badass, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Okay Chapter Two, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Bruce and Dick time travel to save Damian from Heretic, TIM AND DAMIAN ARE GOOD BROTHERS CHANGE MY MIND, Tim's the only valid adult, Time Travel, a whole bunch of, based off some late night musings, because yeah, but that's not a Tag is it, editing this made me want to die so i didn't, h m, hahahahahaha what the Fuck, he's got a brain and he forgets to use it, hhhh lemme think, i can't write titles so i'll change it later, i changed the rating bcuz im Coward, i don't make the rules, i guess, i had an idea, i have created this idea, idk man guess u gotta read to find out, make that a tag you cowards, more implied, more like non-consensual surgery, oh boy here we go - Freeform, on accident, so has Goliath, stalling, technically, the bad kind of sick, the jokers sick af, yeah - Freeform, you will enjoy this idea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:46:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21706948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/call_me_steve/pseuds/call_me_steve
Summary: Bruce and Dick are desperate to get Damian back after Heretic. They come to the conclusion of time travel, make to go back a few months, and somehow end up a handful of years in the future instead.Gotham's on the brink of war, Damian's dawned the cowl too young, Tim's become a dad, and Future Dick and Bruce are dead.Dick doesn't dare turn back. He's got to help his family, even if they aren't really his.
Relationships: (IMPLIED), Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jonathan Kent, Jon Lane Kent & Damian Wayne, Jonathan Kent/Damian Wayne, Jonathan Samuel Kent & Damian Wayne, Maya Ducard & Damian Wayne, Maya Ducard & Jonathan Kent & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne
Comments: 13
Kudos: 311





	1. through the portal, here we come

**Author's Note:**

> yeah. i did it. 
> 
> i'm kinda disappointed in myself, tbh.
> 
> tumblr: [potato-reblob](https://potato-reblob.tumblr.com/)

Dick crosses through the portal to dusty air and ashes scattered amongst the ground. Buildings crumble around the torn up street. Markings all over the remains of Gotham tell Dick all he needs to know. Green and red spray paint curl heavenward in a sick imitation of Joker’s manic grin. When he hears Dick grunt, he whirls around, already gesturing to their belts. “We’ve hit the wrong time,” he says, voice carefully low. “I think we went forward, not back.” 

It’s just like Bruce said, before they left. Time travel is a fickle thing. There’s no right way to do it with the resources they’re working with. Plus, it doesn’t really help that ever since Bruce’s whole incident with Frankenstien, Tim’s been hellbent on _not_ helping their efforts to get Damian back. 

God, Dick _knew_ this wasn’t going to work. There had been too many variables in the beginning. Too many _what if’s,_ too many _maybe not’s._

He just had to agree to go with Bruce anyway, hadn’t he? 

With a groan, he drops his head into the palms of his hands. Ever since Damian _died,_ all Bruce could think of doing was bringing him back to life. He hadn’t been like this with Jason, but with the knowledge that Jason _had_ managed to come back to life- Bruce took it and ran and somehow ended up coming across _time travel._ Their plan was simple. Go back to the fight that took Damian’s life far too early, stop Heretic before he was able to slide that sword through his little brother’s chest. They’d open themselves a new life where Damian lived and breathed and-

And Dick swallows a sob, fixing his domino mask to make sure it covers his teary eyes. He was just like Bruce, in the end. All Dick wanted was to wrap his arms around Damian one last time, to hold him close and breathe in that stupid strawberry shampoo Dick decided to buy him. Why wouldn’t he want to help Bruce with this? Dick and Bruce, although they both avoided the conversation, knew that Damian and Dick were closer than the title of brothers allowed. (Father and son fit better, Dick dares to think.)

“Should we stop by the Batcave in our time?” Bruce questions, as he fiddles with his wrist computer. While the actual portal-opening-thing-a-ma-jigs were attached to their belts, all the information they needed rested in their batcomputer’s archives, for Alfred to monitor over. “Or should we just skip to the next time we have queued up?”

 _Home_ rests on the tip of Dick’s tongue. They’ve only just started this time travel task, and Dick already feels weighed down by his grief. He’s still mourning, naturally. At this rate, he knows he’ll end up compromised by the time they make it to the time they’re shooting to find. All he wants to do, (besides save Damian and hold him again), is to go home to the manor, make tea, and cry as _Mean Girls_ plays in the backgr-

“You’re not _Batman,_ ” someone scoffs, voice laced with a pout. They sound _offended,_ almost, and- And Dick _knows_ that voice. It’s older, sure, but- “It’s rude to pretend to be a dead man- and to dress up as someone who’s still around. I think. Technically. Okay, okay- Didn’t your mom’s ever teach you not to play pretend as dead men, guys?” 

Dick’s eyes shoot up, to a familiar little getup. The red cape, cropped so it doesn’t pass the knees, the ripped jeans still baby blue, the same old Superman t-shirt, long since faded. Beat up converse, double knotted on his feet. He’s a few years older and a whole lot taller than when Dick last saw him, but it’s all the same. 

Jonathan Kent stands before Dick and Bruce, hands folded across his chest. 

Dick still remembers the days that Jon and Damian raced around the manor, (and the penthouse, while Bruce had disappeared). Years ago, Clark had decided it’d be a good idea to get the two to be friends, given the fact they were around the same age. It’s just a shame that they never got the chance to grow up as complete _heroes_ together. Him and Damian had been close- really close. Their time’s Jon was still torn up about Damian’s death. 

This Jon blinks as he takes in Dick and Bruce, before tutting an all too familiar tut. “I’m gonna have to bring you guys in to the base. No running away.” He purses his lips, regarding Bruce closer for a moment. “B-boy doesn’t like it when people do that. It always attracts the Joker’s attention, and we don’t need that.” 

Dick looks back to Bruce, and they both share a nod. No confrontation until Heretic- not unless it’s totally needed. That was their agreement. Besides, from Jon’s reaction of them, this time’s Nightwing and Bruce-Batman are obviously _dead._ It’s a dull thought, considering that Jon’s only a few years older. Dick can admit that he’s at least curious about who dawns the cowl now, though. Dick had done it last time- Jason probably refused to this time, too. Especially with _Joker_ leading this whole thing.

Tim, then? He’ll be the smartest Batman there ever were, that’s for sure. It’s just a shame he had to do it so young. 

A pit forms in Dick’s gut. If Bruce, Dick _and_ Damian are dead, there’s a big chance that all Tim really has left is Alfred. (God, Dick _hopes_ Alfred’s still alive.) 

“We’ll go,” Dick says, raising his hands in the air. “You’ve just got a misunderstanding about us, is all. We’ll clear it up and explain it to- uh- B-boy?” 

B-boy could mean Beast Boy, really, but Dick’s pretty sure it’s just Batman. He’s confirmed as correct when Jon amends with, “Batman. He’s so uptight and serious now-a-days. We like to make fun of him- All friendly teasing, y’know- But- You probably shouldn’t- He’ll feed you to Ivy’s plants the next time she decides it’s time to swarm the city.” He winced at his own words, the nod to Ivy sending the conversation and joking cold. 

Dick has a feeling the new Batman might just be Jason. Prickly and serious _could_ fit with Tim, but- Hey. Who knows. Grief and mourning do things to people that you can’t always explain. Time travel included. 

Jon leads them by the wrists after slapping cuffs on their wrists. They’re the plastic kind you can buy in toy stores for your kids to play with, but they’ve been modified and bulked up with metal, steel and tech. The locks have been changed from a key to a fingerprint scanner. When Jon’s fingers brush over it, the little screen beeps red. He clearly can’t unlock it. (The Bruce-influenced part of his mind thinks that it’s good- if he needs to, he can put a pair on Jon and not need to worry about him getting out. They seem pretty solid. Though, there’s always the chance that he _could_ break out, Super-something’s always seem to surprise him.) 

“These are pretty high tech,” Dick remarks, more for the sake of something to say and to focus on, than to learn about the cuffs. Not that it’s not cool, or important to hear about. “How’d you guys make them?” 

“I’m not as dumb as I look,” Jon scowls. “I won’t hand away free information just because you think I’m stupid and easy to trick.” 

It’s a completely valid concern. Dick gets to work shooting it down. “We’ve been compliant! If I wanted to cause trouble, I would’ve already. As soon as we get to Batman, we’ll explain that this whole thing was a mistake and that he doesn’t have to worry about us! Or- Me, at least.” He gestures to Bruce. “He’s pretty shifty. We’ll be fine.”

Surprisingly enough, Jon gives. “B made them,” he half-beams. Tim then. “Only his fingerprint is recognized. Way too many times have we had traitors in our midst that free our prisoners, or just plain old teammates who are _super_ gullible. He was gonna let me be one of the only other people, besides- uh- someone else. But.” He adopts a sheepish grin. “Stuff happened, I guess. It was really bad. I trust his judgement, though!” 

“If he’s good, then all power to you,” Dick grins back. 

Bruce hunches his shoulders. “What the hell happened to Gotham?” he asks, and Dick winces at his wrecked tone. It’s their city, to be reduced to ash in a few years time. There’s no point in asking the year instead, anyhow. Jon’s no older than sixteen now, no younger than twelve or thirteen. They can take a pretty good guess. “We were just here-” Bruce pauses, piling on an alibi fast. “-a few years ago.” 

Nice save, B.

“B always says a lot can happen in a few years! You’d be surprised. And- Everyone’s heard of the old Batman’s loss at the hands of the Joker and his Arkham crew. He didn’t die in the battle- He came close. Present day Batman took up the cowl while the villains reaped their spoils of war. Old Batman died pretty soon after that. Health complications, I think?” Jon hums. “I thought you might’ve been posing as the old Batman. I guess I was wrong then, since you didn’t know?” 

“I’m not posing as anyone,” Bruce grinds out. Dick chokes back a laugh, which goes sour as soon as he grumbles, “ _Fuckin’ Joker._ ” 

Dick steps over a stray piece of rubble on nimble feet. “See?” he whispers to Bruce. “You should’ve let Lil’ D beat up Joker when he had him in that damn room.” He scowls low, matching Bruce to a near perfect T. The Joker has messed with their lives _way_ too much, at this point. 

Jon stiffens. 

Shit. 

The Supers have super _hearing,_ and Damian’s still probably a sore spot for everyone. 

Just before Dick can question about Nightwing’s death, on rolls to a stop. “Close your eyes,” he says, tacking on a _sorry_ soon after. Dick obliges. He hopes Bruce does too. Jon drops their hands, but reaches back a moment later. Something rolls open. He doesn’t tell them to open their eyes, so Dick keeps them close. Jon leads them forward, and immediately, Dick recognizes the smell of the place they're in. Musty, damp. The Batcave. They’re using the cave as their base of operations?

Of course they would. 

“Hey, B-boy!” Jon yells, before saying, “you can open your eyes.” 

Dick does, expecting the same old cave. What he _gets_ is something nearly three times larger. There’s more space in the center, lined with more vehicles that Dick cares to count. They’ve all got a reoccurring theme- Beat up, covered in spikes and neon green spray paint. Undercover vehicles, no doubt. The Batcomputer ahead has grown a few sizes, monitoring different sectors of Gotham and others displaying some of Arkham’s more dangerous ex-patients. Bane’s profile is marked with a deep red stamp, right over top his picture, that reads off _deceased._

The glass cases hosting the Bat-clan’s fallen uniforms has been moved, now showing Bruce’s old cowl, Dick’s Nightwing uniform, and so many others he can’t name. One’s nothing more than a brown one piece with orange stripes on the side, gloves and a mask. Towards the end is Damian’s old Robin outfit, shoved over there like it doesn’t even matter. It should be in the dead center with the rest of the Batfamily’s fallen members, Dick thinks, and makes a note to yell at Tim/Jason/Batman for it. Family should stick together, even if it’s only their old legacies that stay by each other's sides. 

The other platforms scattered around the cave’s walls are hard to see. There’s more than there used to be, all covered with discarded training weapons and dummies, with cots for sleeping. What an _upgrade._

“B-boy!” Jon tries, cupping his hands around his mouth “I know you’re here! We’ve got prisoners!” 

The voice that responds is low, older, but not overly so. It can’t be Tim or Jason- then _who?_ “Then send them to the _cells,_ ” this Batman says. “Why on Earth do I-” 

Oh, Dick knows the exact moment that Batman sees the two of them. Is it really that big of a crime to dress up as Nightwing or Batman around here? Jeez. 

“Take off those damn _masks,_ ” Batman hisses, dropping from his perch atop one of the lower platforms. He’s- He’s _tiny._ Smaller than Jon by nearly a whole foot! “How dare you tarnish the fallen’s legacies like this! Did the Joker put you up to this? Harley? _Catwoman’s_ not normally this _cruel._ ” 

“We can explain,” Dick defends. Bruce gives him a grunt and that’s all the conformation that Dick needs. He tears off his mask. Bruce pulls down his cowl. 

Jon recognizes them immediately, taking half a step back. “Mr. Wayne?” he says, soft. “And- And Dick-? They weren’t- You two weren’t imposters-? How did you _survive?_ We saw _both_ of you die-” 

Bruce steps up, holding out his cuffs to Batman. “We’re not your Batman and Robin,” he explains. “Not yet. We’ve come from the past. A miscalculation while trying to travel through time brought us here.” He waves his wrists. “Now, Batman. If you’d be so _kind_ as to let us know who decided to carry on the cowl? You aren’t Tim or Jason.” 

“B-” Jon whispers, and it sounds wrong. “You should-” 

“I know,” Batman interrupts. He reaches out, pulling off his glove, and unlocks Bruce’s cuffs. He does the same for Dick, with shaking hands. Then, his hand snakes up to his mask.

“You don’t have to,” Jon reminds. 

“I _know._ ” 

Batman pulls off his cowl. Glassy green eyes- for the first time in near _months_ \- peer right back at Dick. 

Dick slaps a hand over his mouth, before opting to instead surge forward, picking Damian up just like he used to do. He’s gotten bigger, slightly taller, for nearly sixteen years old. Not big or tall _enough-_ His height’s been stunted by the League’s training, and then some. Damian melts right into the embrace, Dick’s arm right below his thighs, his legs wrapping around Dick’s waist, his arms around Dick’s shoulders. 

“I don’t understand,” Dick utters, and he knows that his tone bleeds disbelief. “Heretic- He-” He breathes, deep. “ _How?_ ” 

“You’ll get me back eventually,” is all Damian says, choking on tears he doesn’t dare let fall. “I promise you do. You will. But- You have to go home now.” 

“Not yet.” 

Bruce finds his way to Dick’s side, hands shaking. He takes Damian’s face into his hands- still round, tanned, eyes big and green- and blinks away tears. Like father like son. Neither are willing to cry. (Dick thinks he might be, actually.) Despite Bruce probably itching to hold him, Dick doesn’t let his brother go. He can’t quite bring himself to. “I’m so sorry,” Bruce murmurs, carding his hand through Damian’s hair. “I never wanted you to wear the cowl. Not this _young._ Not like _this._ ” 

Damian tenses in his arms, saying _that’s what you’re concerned about_ without really speaking the words. “I had to,” he replies, curtly. “I couldn’t let Jason come back here- he didn’t really want the roll anyway, and with the Joker running around- I told him he wasn’t needed. He left.” 

That’s so _Damian,_ in the end. He pushed Jason out of the city because he was so worried and concerned, all under the guise of not wanting or needing Jason around. Pretending like it was the grief, pretending like Jason was the one to blame for trudging up memories that should’ve remained buried. That’s so _Bruce,_ too. When you boil it down, anyway. While Dick can’t help that little flurry of pride that rises up in his chest- Damian cared enough to not accuse Jason of being a coward and leaving, Damian _cared-_ his grin still falters at the point that he dealt with it by pushing Jason away, without expressing aloud that he was concerned. It’s a roundabout wayward way of going about it, but he supposes that it _works-_

And then it hits him. The boy in his arms is _fifteen._ Sixteen. _Young._ And he’s leading attacks on the Joker like there was no other way of getting rid of him. There really wasn’t, not with the no killing rule and Bruce’s probable disagreement to bombing down Gotham. Though, with this future, killing off your enemies really sounded a lot more efficient than attempting to re-lock them up again. 

(Dick immediately hates himself for the thought.)

“And Tim?” Dick asks, to drown out his thoughts. “Why isn’t Tim here?” 

_Please don’t be dead,_ he thinks, _please don’t let Tim be dead too. Damian doesn’t need to be alone-_

Damian scoffs at his tense tone. “Relax, Richard,” he says, matter-of-factly, “Timothy and his team are simply on patrol. We have reason to believe that another spy broke through our ranks and spilled information on a cave entrance. We need to keep an eye on the villains if this is true- Timothy told me that I wasn’t allowed to join him, despite me leading the war efforts. I send Jon in my stead. Because he’s _here_ now, rather than there, I will go out and find them myself.” 

“I had to catch up to them,” Jon replies, half-sheepish. “There’s a reason why we use their team for stealth and speed, after all. And then I thought I spotted you and I was gonna tell you to go home for Tim- I ran into these two instead.” 

The arms around Dick’s shoulders tighten. “Had I been out, neither you, nor Timothy, would have the ability to send me back. Now, Jon, bring Richard and Father to Pennyworth. He’ll be ecstatic at the news. If I’m not back in twenty minutes, alert Timothy’s team via the coms. You know the drill.”

“Why his team?” Bruce questions. “Why not you? And it’d be more time efficient to just call them back via the coms without you going after them-” 

“This isn’t arrogance, mind you,” he starts, “but I am the _king_ and _queen_ of this chess game.” He tacks on, “Jon is a queen too. I’ve cheated and replaced all of the pawns with queens.” Dick swallows a laugh at that. He’s so happy _someone_ got through to the kid enough to allow him to say something as stupid as _that._ “I am the most important of the vigilanties because I bare your name, Father. It’d be foolish to carry a com on me. If i’m captured, they’d trace it back to the base. That is the same reason why coms are solely for emergencies. Someone could track the signals. We don’t have time for those kinds of risks.”

“Damian’s thought of it all!” Jon cheers. 

“Regardless,” Damian says, and it somehow sounds scolding. It’s obviously their que to part ways, but Damian makes no move to pull away from Dick. Dick knows that Damian needs to go, though, so he mans up enough to let go of his little brother. It’s the hardest thing he’s ever done. 

Jon’s smile fades when Damian’s feet hit the ground, all joy dissipating. “Tim won’t like this,” he warns, beginning to hover by Damian’s side. 

“Tim likes nothing I do,” Damian returns, curt. He turns on his heel to leave, drawing a sigh from Jon. Like a flower, he wilts, feet returning to the ground. Then, he twists over to the Batcomputer. After hitting a few keys and clicking a few files, it flashes. A timer appears on the screen. _Com Protocol,_ it reads. 

When Jon makes for the stairwell, Dick follows. Bruce pulls up his cowl first, before trailing behind. “You’d think they’d get along better,” Dick utters. “They’re still going at it. Even with me and Bruce _dead!_ They’re _hopeless._ Aren’t they-” 

“Damian and Tim get along just fine!” Jon defends, forming a question at the end, like he doesn’t quite believe that Dick can’t see it too. “They used to be really bad- Fights bad. But- They’re there for each other now.” He leans in, like it’s a secret. “Off the record, we both think Tim is a hypocrite. Like, _yeah,_ Damian overworks himself a _lot!_ He doesn’t sleep for like a week, and then he’s like, _half my brain is sleeping as I talk to you, Mother trained me to go without sleep, yada yada._ It’s weird. But- But then Tim goes all mother hen on him, even though he overworks himself too! He lives on coffee for days at a time and then he crashes for a solid few hours and goes right back at it! Then _Damian_ goes all mother hen on _him._ They don’t even think they _do it!_ ” 

And, damn, if that isn’t the weirdest thing that he’s heard all day.

“Besides, Damian will be okay. I bet he’ll be back in like, ten minutes. He’s good like that, you know?” Jon takes a right, onto a platform that leads down to a hallway. They walk down that, revealing a kitchen. There stands Alfred, his back to them as he pulls a tray out of the oven. His sleeves are rolled up, his hair is fully grey. He carries himself like he’s carrying the weight of the world. 

The image shakes Dick to the core. 

“Alfred!” Jon cheers. “We’ve got company!” 

“No one bad, I do hope,” Alfred returns, in that sarcastic lit that no one can really figure out. He doesn’t look up. “The cookies have just come out from the oven. I have another batch going in. They’re just the kind you asked for, Jonathan.” 

Jon makes a face at his full name. “Thank you,” he says. He shifts his weight and coughs into his fist, obviously unsure of how to go on without Alfred looking up. “They’re time travelers. From the past?” 

“What in the world have they come _here_ fo-” 

Alfred looks up to see Dick and Bruce, once the latter pulls down his cowl. Jon swoops in to grab the tray and set it down before Alfred can drop it, urging Alfred forward. For a moment, Dick’s not sure what to say or do- and then Alfred’s got his arms around him and he’s pulling him close and it feels like _home_ and all of a sudden Dick feels like he could just _shatter_ because he’s overwhelmed by the feeling of _safety_ that Alfred radiates. 

“I’m sorry we left you,” Dick whispers.

“Don’t end up like them, then,” Alfred replies. He moves away from Dick to get a look at Bruce, as if to get used to the fact that it’s _Bruce_ standing before him. It’s Bruce who sweeps Alfred up into a hug. Alfred returns it, clutching onto Bruce like a lifeline. 

Once Jon closes the oven, he goes to make his exit. Dick follows again, making sure his footsteps make no sound. Alfred needs to talk to Bruce alone. He’d lost his son _again,_ for _real_ this time. There was no getting future-Bruce back. Not this time. 

“Who else is here?” Dick asks, once they’ve cleared a good section of the stairs. Jon eyes the timer nervously. There’s only seven minutes left. “It seems like Damian’s pulled together more than just you and Tim.” 

Jon hums. “You’re from when Damian was-” his smile fades, “- _dead-_ so… You won’t know a lot of the people here? I won’t introduce you. Sorry. But- uh- we’ve got Colin? He’s resting. I don’t know if you’ve met him yet. He was a really big help in taking down Bane! Damian and him were talking about sending him to Killer Croc!” 

The big _deceased_ stamp over Bane’s head comes to mind. His stomach churns. “Colin didn’t- Bane’s dead. He didn’t-” 

Jon shuts that down immediately. “No! No, no, no! Dami’s the only one who-” He shuts _that_ one down too, his mouth closing with an audible click. Quickly, he carries on with, “Bane died on a separate occasion. Uhm- there’s some newer members to both the Titans team and Young Justice. Oh! And- How could I forget- There’s-”

“ _You’re going to sleep!_ ” someone cries, down on the main level. Jon startles at it. Dick’s always been good with people, so he can pick out the concern lacing their voice. They’re angry, too. “I’m officially grounding your sorry ass. The hell would Dick say if he saw you like this, Damian? You’re going to get yourself killed again for what- an inch of a chance for us to win, or something like that?” Whoever it is, pauses. When they speak again, their voice is but a whisper. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

At the nod to his future- _deceased_ \- self, Dick forces himself to move faster down the stairs. He leaves Jon behind in his haste. That’s Tim alright, and Tim is absolutely _pissed_ at Damian. Just like old times. 

“Don’t deny it, Damian! I know about your damn _relapse!_ ” 

Damian’s face folds into some kind of pure _horror._ “Jon swore he _wouldn’t-_ ” 

Dick lands on the ground, making his fall carry sound as to alert his younger brothers to his presence. It alerts Tim, Damian’s to caught up in making a constipated- _I’m-about-to-cry-but-not-in-front-of-you-_ frustrated face. Tim shifts, eyes going wide. He lets go of Damian’s wrist so he can launch himself into Dick’s arms. 

After a handful of seconds, he basically crumples. “You’re not ours,” he utters, and Dick nods.

“I’m from the past,” he answers. “Dami died and we were so torn up by it- we both just wanted Damian back so _bad._ So we decided that we’d go back and stop Heretic before he ever had the chance-”

“You shouldn’t,” Damian cuts him off, finally dropping his glare. “You should have let me remain dead until whatever it was that allowed me to come back the first time recurs again. Heaven knows I deserved-”

“Don’t finish that sentence, Damian Thomas al Ghul-Wayne!” Tim cries, and Dick has to keep himself from _oohing_ like kids used to do in middle school when someone got in trouble. “This is the kind of shit I’ve been talking about! Don’t try telling me you aren’t- I can see it Damian! I’m not blind!”

Damian folds his arms. (What the hell are they _talking about?_ Dick wants to ask.) His -tt- makes Dick want to scream. Cry. _Something._ He just wants his little brother _back._ _His_ Damian. _His_ ten year old brother who tenses when you reach to touch him, who doesn’t even cry when his world is falling apart no matter how much Dick knows he wants to, who’s learning to come out of his shell all on his own. (The first time he hugged Dick of his own accord, Dick swears that he cried.) 

He’s gathering the conversation as they carry on. He doesn’t like it at all. There’s a relapse, there’s the possibility of a history of suicidal tendencies. There’s probably a whole story behind it that Dick will have to ask around for later. There’s got to be someone around here willing to give Dick some context. 

“This isn’t the time for a conversation on my mental health, Timothy,” Damian scoffs. “I’m fine. I’ve been fine.”

Everyone has a little tick and tell when they lie. Dick’s completely incapable of lying to Bruce and Damian by now, because his tells involve larger gestures- the same one he uses in his storytelling, really- avoiding eye contact, and rambling on. He’s just a bad liar. Though, the rambling does come in handy with others. They’re not interested in listening to Dick ramble on for forever, so they just go with his lie to spare them the pain. Okay, okay- he’s getting off track. So, he’ll admit, Dick had a _really_ hard time picking up on Damian’s little tell. He’s had lying drilled into him just like the violin. Damian knows the inner workings of lying better than even Alfred. 

Damian’s ticks show up when he insults Dick. They show up when he tells Dick he doesn’t need him and his help. When Damian says he doesn’t care what Bruce says or thinks, when he scoffs when talking about Tim and how much he quote unquote “hates” him. (Yeah, Dick can see straight through that. His Damian doesn’t hate Tim, he’s threatened by him, and he hopes these two future ex-Robin’s have already figured that out.) 

He has a point. He’s getting to it.

So, Damian reaches up and touches his chest. His most vulnerable spot on his body. (Right where Heretic slid that blade through his little brother’s _chest._ On future Damian, there probably lies a scar. Actually, Dick is pretty sure about that.) Other times, his hand goes to a scar somewhere on his body and his fingers trace it. It sounds odd, because if he’s covering his most vulnerable spot then he should be being _vulnerable_ and telling the _truth._

Dick didn’t have enough time to get to the bottom of that one, before his Damian died. When Damian comes home, he’ll get to work on uncovering that secret.

Case in point, Damian’s hand rises up to his chest and drags down from his collarbone to right above his stomach. Tim must’ve uncovered Damian’s secrets for himself, because when Dick steps up, it’s Tim who joins him. They both decide to chastise their brother for lying- and then the Batcomputer blinks once. Twice. One of the screens melts into a light, pinkish-purple white.

It’s almost comical how wide Damian’s eyes go. He takes off for the computer like it’s an Olympic finish line, reaching for the microphone headset. He shucks it on, not caring how it messes with his hair. “Maya,” he breathes, and he sounds like he wants to cry. Tim’s face softens, before he pulls Dick towards the computers to join Damian. Jon flickers down too, falling close to Damian. “Maya, I told you not to go off and do this-” 

It’s his way of saying, _god, Maya, I was so scared for you._ Dick thinks it’s kind of sweet.

“ _Like your suicide plans were any better,_ ” this Maya girl hisses, low. “‘Mista J’ _has no idea I’m even hear, so you can calm your tits._ ” She’s undercover with the _Joker?_ Damn, Maya is brave. Dick owes her some damn _respect._ “ _I’m headed back now, but I’ve been hearing about all of their plans all night. I had to let you know what they were, so I risked the coms-"_

Damian huffs. “It wasn’t a suicide mission. What’d you hear?” 

“They’re going to attack the base once midnight tomorrow hits.”

The words hang in the air, turning sour pretty imedientally. There they rot, disappearing like smoke and hanging around like some kind of bad smell. Damian’s face falls, and then goes taut as Tim takes a step back. _Protocol_ _Doomsday_ rolls off Jon’s lips, in a question. Damian, gripping the edge of the table hard enough to turn his knuckles white. 

“Disable your coms and head back. We need all hands on deck,” Damian says. Maya replies affirmative, so Damian sends off a signal to all of the other online coms. Tim gets to barking out orders to his Titans team. It’s considerably larger than Dick last remembers the team being. Tim tells them to gather all other members in the cave and have them prepare for a battle. Damian, once disabling the last of the coms and the remaining monitors, turns and says, “Sleep. Have them all spend the next twenty four hours checking off their bucket list or something. I won’t allow these villains to break into the cave, but we must assume we’re not to survive the night.”

“You’re sleeping too,” Tim says. “Four hours at _least._ No debate.”

“I’ve got to make plans,” Damian returns. “We’ll attack them before they do us. Sleeping is a waste of precious time.” Tim goes to say something, but Damian cuts him off swiftly. “I won’t allow these people to die, Timothy. No one else will die by my _hand-_ ”

Tim’s face goes cold with sorrow. With guilt. “What happened to Dick isn’t your fault, Damian.”

Damian buries his face in his palms and sinks to the floor. Jon opens his mouth as if to protest, but clicks it shut. “If it had been me who died in Richard’s place, Father wouldn’t have gone off like he did! He wouldn’t have gotten hurt as bad as he had, he wouldn’t have died and Gotham wouldn’t be overrun by all of these little- little _pests_ -!”

It’s all Tim and Dick can do, standing before their brother. It feels weird to hear about himself as a third party, as someone whose heart has long gone still and silent and cold. While Dick and Tim stand there like complete idiots, Jon drops down beside Damian, wrapping an arm around Damian. Damian leans his head onto Jon’s shoulders, Jon lets his head rest in Damian’s shock of hair. 

“Don’t leave me,” Jon whispers. “Everytime you almost do stuff like that, it- It hurts, Damian. I can’t go through _losing_ you again. I can’t. I just- I _can’t. Please._ Don’t.”

“For you,” Damian says, and that’s when it hits Dick like a slap to the face. How did he not see this? How did he- Even in the days back in the mansion, two ten year olds running around like they’re going to save the world some day. _How long?_ Dick thinks, _since when?_

Those two words seem to be enough for Jon. He leads Damian away, with the promise of a few hours of sleep and rest. Tim deflates as they pass, running a hand through his permanent bedhead. “How did you do it?” Tim asks Dick, as if he knows. “Nothing I do is right. I can’t be you- look where he _is_ right now!”

“You’re doing a fine job,” Dick says. “It was always going to take a few hands to help him out. I wasn’t enough for him either, you know? I messed up, left and right. Almost got him killed.” Dick falls silent, mulling everything over. “I’m sorry I died.”

“That’s not on you, either.”

Dick hums, grinning. “You’re the best Red Robin I know.”

“I’m the only Red Robin you know,” Tim snorts.

“Damian hasn’t tried to kill himself, has he?”

The courts have always said that silence is an admission of guilt. It means affirmative, most of the time. Something like that, at least.

Tim’s silence is all Dick needs to know.

“How?” he asks, next. He’s not even sure if he _wants_ to know. “How did he-?”

“I thought, at first, it was just him getting reckless. I’ve dealt with reckless vigilantes before. I thought I could deal with _him._ It wasn’t until Bruce was breathing through machines and that Gotham belonged to the _Joker_ that he actually tried- Half overdose. Half slicing open his own damn _wrists!_ Bruce died before we- He died before we could tell him that Damian- He’s tried a handful of times, I guess. It’s either getting himself almost killed and captured by villains, letting himself get thrown around in a fight- Or it’s running himself into the ground. It’s him not sleeping or eating and pretending like he is, just wasting away before my eyes and acting like he’s slick enough to do it all without me noticing.

“You remember when Bruce and we were all afraid that Damian only cared about himself and no one else?” Tim asks, and Dick’s not really _sure_ what he’s saying, but he _thinks_ he knows? “This is the exact opposite. He’s- He’s just like _Bruce._ He’s _too_ much like _Bruce._ ”

That’s not- 

That’s not right.

Bruce had a hard time showing that he cared about people. Once they died, everything would come pouring out in a fit of rage and grief. Damian _could_ show people that he cared while they were still around. He couldn’t say it out loud quite yet, (maybe this Damian could). Dick knew that Damian could _show_ it, though. He did it through little gifts that he brushed off as if they weren’t important, showed it through subtle things someone not looking for them wouldn’t see.

It’s because he wasn’t only raised by Bruce.

Damian Wayne was raised by Dick Grayson too, and he’d be damned if he didn’t at least try to put a stop to his brother’s behavior and save him before it became too late.

He couldn’t lose another Damian, even if this one wasn’t even technically his.

Bruce ends up descending the stairs, as Tim and Dick fall into silence. The reunion between Tim and Bruce is world’s different than anything else that Dick’s seen. Tim just finds a spot by Bruce’s side and Bruce wraps an arm around his shoulders, pulling Tim into his side. “I’m extremely proud of you,” Bruce says, and that’s all it takes. Bruce’s eyes grow glassy.

They all pretend they didn’t see it. 

The three of them find another room attached to one of the platforms, lying out their plans before them and grabbing a bunch of chess pieces to use. An hour passes and time finds them in sour moods, nothing solid quite yet built. They’ve gone through a chunk of _what if’s_ and _if we do this’s_ and none of them have gotten them anywhere. Bruce and Dick misjudge the player’s skill levels and incompatibilities left and right, unsure of how all of these people from their pasts have changed. Tim’s clearly just unsure of how to form a battle plan.

“Damian’s better at this than I am,” he admits, watching Bruce move one of the rooks to where Tim’s piece lies. He’s a knight, for some reason that Dick doesn’t really get. “That’s part of why he took up the cowl. He’s- He’s more fit for leading a war. You know?”

“It’s what he was born for,” Dick replies. “Talia trained him to lead wars.”

“It’s a good skill to have,” Bruce voices. He takes one of the queens- Dick’s unsure of who this one is- and goes to move it. Tim has him put it back. “We need to call Jason. The League. _Someone._ A full out Arkham Breakout isn’t something that us Gotham vigilantes have ever been able to take care of on our own.” 

Dick snorts. “Batman?” he teases. “Calling for help?”

“If we could have, I’d already have the League here,” Tim reminds. “Since your death, villains in other cities have been getting the idea that they can follow the Arkham breakouts and take over, too. It’s why we get the sidekicks instead of the heroes. Me and Damian both agreed to leave Jason out of this, by the way. Though- Damian’s way of going about it-”

Dick wishes he knew what Damian had said. He wishes that he had been there to stop him, been there to fix this whole fucked up future. There’s nothing he can do now, but Dick assumes that the two of them are here to stay- at least until they’ve won this pseudo-war. 

“Put me on the front lines then,” Bruce grunts out. “Have Damian wear his old Robin uniform. Show that I’m still here. They’ll think they haven’t beat me, Gotham’s won’t be theirs when we leave, you can change back to how it was before. Now.” Bruce waves his hand in the air in a _details, details_ motion. “I don’t want Damian to be Batman. Once I get Joker out of the way, I want Jason to come back and assume the position.”

Tim’s face scrunches up, as if he’s just swallowed a lemon or something super sour. His brows crease up in something like frustration. “You can’t do that.”

“He’s my son,” Bruce says. “That’s my cowl. I have every right to pull him out of it. The cowl has a mental strain that it puts on whoever wears the cape-”

“Damian has _worked_ for the title just as much as you did! He’s earned it! Taking it away and then leaving him again would just push him further over the edge then keeping him as Batman would!” Tim slams his hands against the table. The chess pieces shake. “You went and _died,_ Bruce. The moment you did that, Damian became _my_ responsibility. You have no idea how afraid I get when he goes out there, but even I know that this is what he _needs._ ”

Bruce stands up with a growl, Tim following suit. It’s just like old times, and old times call for Dick to intervene. He rises too, to try and stop the argument before it can escalate. Dick knows that part of the reason why Bruce doesn’t want Damian to be Batman is because he doesn’t want to lose his son again. Not while he’s so young. Jason, at least, can take care of himself out there than Damian will, at the moment. 

Bruce is saying something about legacy and experience when the door slides open, and in walks a young woman. Her dark hair, only long enough to form a bob, is pulled out of her face with a headband. Her body suit is grey, with pinkish hues. Her eyes are dark. In her arms is a rounded helmet with six magenta slits peering through. Bruce recognizes her immediately.

“Nobody,” he hisses. “Did you take up your father’s job when he died?”

‘Nobody’ rolls her eyes. “I’m not after you,” she deadpans, cocking her head to the side. She puts her hand on her hips. “I’m here for Damian. He’s the one that-”

Dick’s heart stills. Why would Nobody’s daughter be after Damian?

Tim cuts her off. “Maya,” he says. “Damian’s sleeping. You can take a crack at him later.”

She gives him a nod. Her eyes carefully scan Dick and Bruce up and down. “I thought these two were dead,” she remarks, jerking her thumb back at them.Tim falls into a conversation with her, explaining how Dick and Bruce came from the past and ended up sticking around to help them out with the war for Gotham. Dick stands on the sidelines, eyeing Bruce as he watches him relax. Tim wraps up the conversation as Maya says, “Damian’s dead? He died a real asshole, y’know?”

Dick starts, nose crinkling up. “Don’t talk about Damian like that- He gave his _life_ for Gotham-”

“He hasn’t done the year of atonement yet,” she says. The _what?_ “In little Maya’s view, he’s still an ass. Goliath wouldn’t agree, of course- He’s freakishly attached to Damian, though.” Her face drops. “Was. Is. Had been, before the fucking Joker and Harley decided to adopt him as their new pet. I’m glad I didn’t kill Damian first- When I get my hands on them, they’re as good as _de-_ ”

“I thought Damian called dibs?” Tim voices, trying to lighten the mood. Then, more solemn, “We’ll get him back.”

“I know,” she replies-

And then the whole room begins to shake. Chess pieces scatter all over the table top. The King piece rolls to the floor, bouncing twice. 

Jon’s zooming into the room, hardly even bothering with the door as he rockets through it. “Maya,” he greets, and then tacks on, “we’ve got company and Damian’s pretty adamant on giving himself up.”

“So you left him?” Maya snarks. She’s already pulling on her helmet, pink slits glowing. Tim- who hadn’t changed from his suit- pulls on his mask. Once Bruce pulls up his cowl, Dick presses his own domino mask onto his face. “Damian’s top priority. Cave comes second.”

“Penny-one?” Tim asks.

“Already gone.”

“ _Good._ ” 

Jon pulls Maya up into his arms and they zoom off. Tim rushes out of the room.

 _For Gotham_ rings in the distance.


	2. we don't want to be here, away we go now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian goes missing. 
> 
> Dick freaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so.  
> so, so, so. I am Boosting the rating for this because i did some Stuff. i kept some of it pretty vague,,,,, but make sure to read the Tags because i have no idea where the Heck this chapter Went okay

On his quest to break free from the battle and to find Damian, Dick ends up being pulled up into an easy partnership with Kori. She’s changed a lot since Dick’s time with her, not only just in her battle abilities. 

Her skirt has been replaced with long pants that actually grace her ankles, skin peeking out through slits on the thighs. She’s got taller boots with smaller heels, even though she’s never really needed heels to make her tall. Both the boob window and the gaps for her hips remain, letting off a more mature and still just as sexy vibe. (That’s not just Dick’s unrequited and never ending crush talking.) Her hair has been pulled up and out of her face, into a high ponytail that still manages to reach the small of her back. Her bangs curl slightly above her vibrant eyes. 

Dick falls in love just a little more with her, all over again. He knows it’s only a matter of time before his Kori changes her looks to this, and if he stays alive in his timeline, maybe he’ll have a chance to make things better with her. 

The way that she winks as she rockets by him and the way she plants a kiss on his cheek when there’s a soft lull in the fight says she might just be giving him the chance too. 

“It’s nice to see you,” she utters, all soft and echoey like the faraway call of another world foriegn to Dick, “Boy _Wonder._ ” 

God, he loves how she says that. He loves how it rolls off of her tongue like it was meant to fit there, he loves how it settles down deep in his gut and waves away all of the overwhelming anxiety that threatens to tear him up from the inside out because _where the hell is Damian._

He lets himself fall into a dance by Kori’s side, and they start taking out goons one by one. Everything is put on the back burner. All that matters is here and now, all that matters is watching Kori’s back and making sure she doesn’t get hurt. All that _matters now_ is the rush of adrenaline in his veins. 

It’s just as the goons start to thin out that Tim rushes past him, face taught even with that soft smile on his lips. He’s right beside Kon, who looks none too happy about following Tim’s lead, even though Dick know he won’t utter a word about it. Kon ends up glancing up at Dick. He looks surprised for a split second, before he meets Dick’s eyes dead on and jerks his head in the direction of one of the open entrances. 

That’s probably why Tim’s so worried- the whole _a-lot-of-time-has-passed-and-we-don’t-know-where-Damian-is-right-now_ thing is pretty important. 

“I’ve got to go find Damian,” Dick says, when Kori zooms right by him again. He hasn’t seen Jon or Maya yet, he really hopes that means that they’re with his little brother right now and trying to sway him to wait for Bruce to surge forth and take everything into his own hands. Kori nods and Dick takes off. 

He only slows when he catches a flicker of a black cape and twin pointy ears. _Damian,_ he thinks, and he violently twists on his heel to follow it. The cape was near the ground, it _had_ to have been Damian. When Bruce rushes, his cape sweeps up high, but because Damian is short, even his Robin one had dragged. Then again, his Robin cape _had_ been awfully large, pooling around his shoulders and flaring up in the air when he lept to mimic his father’s size. 

While chasing after whichever bat this one is, (please be Damian, Dick could deal with it better if it were Bruce stealing the Joker’s attention), he comes across Jon. 

His hair is messier than it was when they split ways, his eyes near screaming as his body screams at him to move from pure nerves. Jon’s never been a still child, not like Damian. Damian only gets twitchy when he’s around too many people, when they grate on his nerves for a little long- ( _they’re all looking at me, Grayson. They’re sizing me up and I know that they’re going to_ attack _me, I know that they know that I’m not good enough to be here, Grayson._ ) Jon is just twitchy in general. Right now, it’s like all he’d rather do is free himself from his body by absolutely _bursting_ through his own skin. 

“I can’t hear Damian,” he says. “I can’t hear Damian and I don’t know why because he swore to me that he wouldn’t ever use lead in his uniform because he knows I have to hear his heartbeat to stabilize myself because there’s so much _noise and suffering_ in the world and-” 

And Jon is rambling because he’s panicking, so Dick places his hands on his shoulders and reminds him to breathe. “In and out,” he says, “Damian’s gonna be just fine.” 

That means that cape isn’t Damian’s, it’s _Bruce’s,_ and Bruce is too busy dealing with stray crooks than trying to escape outside. 

“We’re wasting _time,_ ” Jon stresses. “I _can’t hear Damian and-_ ” He could be dead, he doesn’t say. He could have been kidnapped or killed off, he doesn’t say. Dick knows, though, he _knows._

“Tim’s heading outside,” Dick replies. “I know you’ve always concentrated on Damian- _though I’m sure he’s fine-_ but I need you to pick someone else just long enough to get yourself back in a good headspace.” He knows dimly that this isn’t what he should be asking of a _child,_ he should be telling Jon to _leave,_ to go get Superman and beg him to trade out for just an hour. “As much as I hate to say this, you can’t go help Damian if you’re about to unravel.” 

It’s not the time and place for any of this conversation to be happening, but Jon leans his head against Dick’s chest- (even though he’s near as tall as Dick is, even at only fifteen). Dick wraps his arm around his back and holds him as the world around them falls apart. 

“Just listen to me. We’re going to get Damian home, okay?” 

“If we don’t,” Jon says, and his voice wavers, “go home and don’t let this happen to him. Don’t let everything fall apart like it did.” 

Nothing will ever prepare him for when Jon says, “ _Don’t die. Don’t leave Damian alone again._ ” 

He can’t. 

He won’t. 

Not this time. 

Dick waits until Jon pulls away before they’re both tearing for the door, panic flowing through their veins. They both press everything down, Jon knows that Dick _promises_ even if he’s not saying anything. 

“Maya’s out here, so’s Tim and- _Joker._ ” He spits the Joker’s name like it’s a curse, like it’s poison upon his tongue. It probably is, especially after what the Joker has done to this family. 

If they get to the Joker fast enough, Dick can prevent any one else from dying. He can prevent _Damian_ from dying if he just moves _fast enough._ He can tell Jon’s thinking the same thing, so he lifts his arms just an inch like Bruce has done for years with Clark. Jon gets it, probably only from working with Damian for so many years. Jon’s arms go right below Dick’s armpits, hands curling up to his shoulder. Dick’s feet leave the ground near beat later, and then they’re off. It’s a lot like running with Wally, from back when Dick was on that team of sidekicks. 

He sees Bruce as they work through the crowd, Dick kicking at every goon’s head that he can reach and Jon near frying their feet to get them to dance out of the way. Dick’s never realized how _big_ the cave is- It makes sense that he _is_ realizing it now, since it’s taking so damn _long_ to get to the cave exit. Maybe that’s his fault, for letting his little brother slip his mind in favor of Kori. Maybe that’s his fault, for wasting so much time. 

“Batman!” he calls, and part of him longs for Damian to appear from the crowd, cheeks flushed from under the cowl. (Or, from behind that green domino mask, hair a mess from where it peeks out from under the hood.) He cups his hands around his mouth to project his voice. “We’re going outside- Joker’s there.” 

Bruce gives him the smallest nod, but makes no move to follow. 

That’s- That’s _weird._ Bruce would normally drop a good chunk of _everything_ to go take down Joker. Though, it could be because the cave is his _home,_ it could be because Bruce has never loved anything more than _Batman_ and _Gotham_ and what this _cave_ represents. It could be because _Alfred_ is here, Dick hears that shotgun thundering in the distance. Bruce was always a little hesitant to leave Alfred in the heat of battle, despite knowing full well that Alfred can take care of himself. Hell, Alfred takes care of Bruce _more_ in battle, than Bruce does him. 

Maybe Dick should tell him about Damian. Maybe Dick should.

(It’s a selfish, terrible thought, when Dick’s mind whispers, _I don’t want him to know.)_

They break through the crowd, finally, but Jon doesn’t put him down until they’re out into the smoggy Gotham air. The exit comes out by an abandoned roadside. Down the way, it connects to a main road, right out of the way of Gotham. It’s an old exit, meant for the Batmobile to find it’s way out into the streets without drawing attention. That means there’s nothing to see except trees. 

“This way,” Jon whispers. “They’re this way.” 

Dick resigns himself to follow Jon’s lead, hastening his steps in hopes of just seeing Damian by Tim’s side when he turns the corner. He ends up stepping in _front_ of Jon in his panic. The corner he’s talking about really is just the end of the tree lines, and upon reaching it, Dick is met with a sharp tug on his hand. He turns to look back at Jon, who’s herding him _into_ the woods, not around. 

“Tim’s heart rate is high- I- I don’t know what’s going on- So, when were close enough, I’ll try to listen in.” 

“You can’t listen from here?” Dick asks. 

“I’m trying to concentrate on your heartbeat,” Jon snarls out. “I’m not _used_ to yours, okay?” 

Because this time’s Dick has been dead for years. Because Jon’s basically dealing with learning someone’s heartbeat that he’s never really heard in a long, long time, while trying to deal with the fact that Damian’s is gone (completely missing). 

Then, Jon flushes. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, because Clark and Lois raised Jon to apologize. “It’s a little easier to listen in when were closer right now. There’s a lot going on. I just- I have to concentrate. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Dick says. “I’m sorry too.” 

Jon doesn’t dignify that with a response. 

They end up close enough to Tim that Dick can peer out from the brush and see the whole scene before them. Jon hangs back, enough that he can still see what’s going on, but far enough that he’s not overtly staring like Dick is. 

The scene before them is _fucked_. 

The Joker sits upon an honest to god _throne_ \- one of rusting metals and sharp blades. There’s blood splatters painting the browning silver. And, the thing is, the throne doesn’t even rest upon the ground. The throne is being held up by six men, all packed with muscles, all baring Joker’s classic red-lipped smile. These smiles are _forced-_ Just like how the Joker stapled his skinned face back to his head, their lips are stapled into a permanent, bloody grin. 

They don’t look particularly thrilled about their predicament, and the grim line of Tim’s lips say they probably didn’t ask to be put in it. 

It’s only Tim that stands before the Joker, pressed down into something like a fighting stance, ready to lunge. His hand flickers a tiny wave, he knows that someone on his side is behind him, though Dick’s not sure he knows who. 

Every bone in Dick’s body screams to join Tim, to take him away because Dick had never wanted his little brothers to face the Joker. He hadn’t wanted Jason to, and that turned out with a bloody crowbar and an explosion that felt more like _pain_ than _destruction_. He didn’t want Tim to, he had such a bright future before him, but Dick could see how he was mending their broken family together with every patrol. He didn’t, doesn’t, _can’t_ have Damian do it, because he is _young_ and Dick knows what Robin does to little boys. 

And now they don’t know where Damian is, (or if he’s breathing, or if his heart is beating), and now Tim’s standing up to Joker all by himself without crumbling like an old building met with it’s end. 

(Dick’s so _proud,_ he really, really is.) 

“Nobody’s here,” Jon says, just loud enough for it to sound like a whisper to Dick. “Move forward, up to Tim. I’m staying behind with her.” 

It took Dick longer than he’d like to admit to connect the two dots- Nobody meaning _Maya,_ not nobody there- before he could let himself nod. He made sure to look like he was just stumbling out of the woods when he did, a questioning yell of, _where are you, Red Robin?_ , leaving his lips. And, oh, from out of the woods, he could see Joker so much clearer- from the flies swarming his face to the dried blood dragging from under his eyes. Grotesque; a living dead body, standing here before him. 

“Red Robin,” Dick sighed out, “thank god. I can’t find Batman.” 

The Joker’s in the middle of saying something- Dick catches _Pyg_ and _surgery_ and _he needs to stop scowling so much, you know_ \- when he spots Dick. His sharp nose scrunches up like a kid, when met with broccoli upon their plate. “Wing-ding?” he asks, in that horrible, grating voice that shreds Dick’s ears like cheese. The Joker’s expression does a one-eighty, flipping back to his manic grin. “Hah! Another Batboy! Back from the dead! Are you going to attempt to kill me too?”

Dick starts to grind out, _I just might_ , when Tim interrupts with a script kind of the same. It’s a lot more _heated,_ filled with a special type of malice Dick’s never really heard him use. “I’m not back from the _dead,_ ” he hisses, “but the moment I get my hands on you-” 

“The little bird’s _fine,_ ” Joker gruffs, near _pouting._ There’s only one person that _little bird_ can be, and that means that Damian went out in his old _Robin_ costume, rather than his Batman one. He probably figured something with there being two Batmen. (Damian’s so absolutely _smart,_ isn’t he.) “I told you that, haven’t I? There’s no reason to have your panties in a twist. He’s getting a _makeover._ ” 

“You’re _sick,_ ” Tim shoots back, and Dick pictures foam bubbling at his mouth, dripping from his lips. His brain’s blanking- what the hell is going on? What are they talking about? “Where did you _take him?_ ” 

“He’s with Pyg,” Joker sing-songs. The way that Tim’s fists clench tells Dick he’s already _said_ this. 

Dick’s own fists clench because Pyg is a sick, sick man. A dirty, sick _bastard_ who’s probably still out, looking for revenge from Damian for foiling his plans all of those years ago, when Dick was Batman and Bruce was dead. Dick doesn’t want to _think_ about what Pyg might be doing to his brother-

And it’s all because Dick got caught up with Kori. 

(He can share the blame with Bruce, right? Even though he decided not to tip him off?) 

“What’s with the long face, Wing-ding? He’s just getting a little- ah, what did they call them- _plastic surgery._ ” (Dick’s heart stops.) “Everyone _knows_ you batboys have freakishly good looks- I’ve taken a _crowbar_ to _Hood_ and he came back with those damn cheekbones as high as the sky. But that little bird? His scowl ruined the whole look. That’s the only thing I _like_ about you _Robins._ Unlike _Batsy,_ you never cease to have a _grin_ on your face!

“So Pyg agreed to work his creepy magic that he does, you know what he _does,_ and-” Joker gestures up to his lips, yanking them into a face splitting smile. “-and if he wants to do anything _else,_ who am I to tell him _no?_ ” 

Dick’s feet move before he can process what he’s doing. 

So do Tim’s. 

For a moment, it’s only the satisfying _crack_ of fists slamming into- and hopefully crunching a few teeth or dislocating something- the Joker’s jaw. It’s the Joker’s laugh being cut off by a choked wail as his teeth slam up and cut into his tongue. It’s Tim’s sharp screech of _Bastard!_ and Dick’s loud _Shut the hell up!_

It’s the whisper of Maya in Dick’s ear, _I know where he is, and if we don’t get him_ now-

(If is a really big prompt to pull.) 

It’s pure coincidence, pure _luck,_ that brings Dick such perfect timing- Bruce breaks through the brush, clad in his black kevlar, Jon straight behind him. Joker lights up like Christmas lights, hand rubbing at his chin. _Joker!_ ” Bruce barks- _Batman_ barks. “Enough is _enough!_ This city is _mine-_ ” 

And Dick lets Bruce’s speech go straight in one ear and right out the other when he sees Nobody’s grayish-purple suit come back into view. One look at Tim, a shared nod with Jon, and the three boys are gone, leaving Bruce behind in the dust. They’ve got a chance to be there just in time- (Dick can’t be _late,_ not like Bruce with Jason and that warehouse, not like Bruce with _Damian_ when Heretic slid his _fucking sword_ through his _ten year old brother’s chest._ He won’t let himself do this to Damian, not again, not like Bruce.) 

(Bruce, who’d driven Dick to go to the past for Damian. Bruce, who tried every method he could get his hands on to bring Damian back. Bruce, who missed out on ten whole years without his youngest because Talia refused to tell him. Bruce, who deserved more than anyone to hold his son.) 

(Dick, who just wanted to wrap up his little brother into a hug and promise that he’d never let go, not again.)

(Didn’t they both deserve a chance?) 

Maya’s already climbing into some random truck, turning the key and allowing it to roar to life under her fingertips. Jon settles into the passenger, forcing both Tim and Dick into the tarp covered bed of the trunk. They leave the little window in the back of the truck pushed open- (that, and they don’t bother with the broken one)- so they can hear Maya and Jon inside the truck. 

“How did you figure out where they took him?” Jon asks, voice edging over to _panic_. “I can’t hear him at all-” 

She yanks hard on the steering wheel, sending them flying around a corner. “We’re going to retrieve a _dead body?_ ” she hisses through her mask, eye slits gleaming. “Why the hell wouldn’t you tell me this _earlier?_ ” 

“Keep driving,” Dick shoots back, tone just as venomous. “Damian’s not _dead._ ” 

“I know that to you _bats_ , death doesn’t really _mean much_ ” -she swerves around a half demolished building that’s crumbled into the streets, running over a bar of metal- “but death is _real_ and not everyone can keep coming _back._ Like, I know Damian comes _back,_ and so does _Jason_ and _Bruce_ and now _you and Bruce are back_ again. But” -this time she takes a right, going straight through police _do not cross_ line- “Damian killed my own dad. And my dad didn’t come back.” 

“My parents haven’t come back,” Dick replies. “Bruce’s parents haven’t- for me, Damian still _hasn’t._ When someone dies, it fucking _hurts._ Even if they come back eventually. Even if they don’t.” 

“Damian’s probably dead.” 

“ _No._ ” It’s Tim who interjects this time, gripping the edge of the truck tight enough to turn his knuckles white. “ _No,_ he’s _not._ He can’t be-” 

Dick reaches out. “Tim-” 

“You don’t _get it,_ Dick!” Tim cries, suddenly, reeling away from his hand like it’ll burn him. “You don’t _get it!_ He’s all I have _left!_ Jason won’t come back to Gotham until we can deal with the Joker- You and Bruce are going to _leave_ and when you do, I’ll be left with the version of you that decided to _die!_ I know that the me from your time- I- That me probably would’ve said good riddance or some selfish shit like that, but- 

“I’ve lost him back when Heretic killed him. I almost lost him thousands of times between the time he came back and the time that you died. Then he almost _killed_ himself after you and Bruce- and if I lose him _now_ out of _all of those separate times,_ when both you _and_ Bruce are here-

“I’ll never be able to forgive myself, Dick,” Tim says. “He’s all I have left.”

Dick gets that more than he wants to admit. Back when everyone thought Bruce to have been dead, Jason and Tim had sparsely visited the penthouse. Really, they only saw the two on patrol. The only constant in Dick’s life- near identical to Tim’s right now- was Damian. Damian and Alfred- (Alfred had been there through thick and thin and it’d be unfair of Dick to write him off.)

“I don’t think Damian is dead, Tim,” Dick says, because he couldn’t _handle it_ if Damian was dead, either. “We’re going to find him, and then we’ll bring him home.”

Tim’s expression goes sour, just as Maya vaults past a flickering red light. Jon snarks about obeying traffic laws and she shoots back with an equally-as-sassy comment on how ‘Nobody just ran that light, Jon’. “There’s no _we_ in this, Dick,” he says, gesturing from Dick to him. The only we there is is Tim, Maya and Jon. Tim doesn’t _count_ Dick. “You’re leaving as soon as we get him back.” 

“We have to get our Damian back,” Dick replies. “I need my little brother.” 

“So you’re going to continue with this time bullshit to get him back?” 

“Me and Bruce have been doing that simulator. We’ve _prepared_ to save Damian. We know exactly where we went wrong, exactly what we have to do-” 

“You have to kill the _Heretic_ to do that, Dick!” 

“Don’t tell Bruce, Tim.” 

Tim jostles, a movement that probably says he was going to stand, before remembering just where they are. “Why not go back to the cave and make sure he doesn’t _leave?_ Then you’ll have Damian back with-” He stops, as if catching on to what he’s saying. “It’s better to just let him rest, Dick. You know you’re going to get him _back,_ and I know for a fact that it wasn’t through time travel.” 

Dick just _stares_ at Tim, words lost in his throat. Letting Damian _rest-_ that never occurred to Dick as an actual idea. Sure, Damian’s life had been a whole bunch of back and forth between valleys and mountains. He’d spent more time getting _over_ those mountains for a slight high than anyone else that Dick thinks he’s ever known. At least, for someone so _young_ , that is. After a life of abuse and neglect- (abuse from Talia, neglect from Bruce if that counts any)- he _did_ deserve some peace. 

Tim stares right back, the epitome of maturity. He understands why Dick wants Damian back, Dick understands why Tim _needs_ Damian back. (And, and, Dick _needs_ Damian and Tim _wants_ Damian. Damian, somehow, has become the glue to save crumbling families. He saves what he can grab in his tiny hands, when Bruce can’t hold them together in his own arms.) 

The back of the truck falls into silence. Dick doesn’t dare break it. 

Eventually, Maya throws the truck onto a curb and yanks the keys out. It’s some abandoned hospital- Gotham General, if Dick’s right. He clambers out of the truck and reaches up to help Tim out, more for the sake of having physical touch to ground him than Tim actually needing help. Tim accepts the help anyway, allowing for Dick to swing him to the ground. 

“Are we going with stealth?” Maya asks, hands on her hips. “Or should we just burst through?” 

“Bursting through would be quicker,” Tim says. “We’ll take down anyone who tries to stop us fast. Jon, can you hear anyone in the building?” 

Jon see-saws with his hand. “Some people. I’m pretty sure there’s some rooms with lead surrounding them- I can’t see through them and I can’t hear anything from them when I probably should.” 

“We’ll hit those rooms, then,” says Dick. He reaches his arms up, doing a quick stretch. “Dami’s gotta be in one of them.” 

“If he’s not,” Maya starts. 

Jon finishes, voice small and head down. “Then he’s dead.” 

Something fractures in Dick’s mind. He’s not sure _why_ he does what he does, why he says what he says, but as they stand outside of Gotham General where his little brother is, all Dick can think to say now is: “You love him.” 

All Jon does is meet Dick’s eyes and Dick’s met with a literal whirlwind of emotions in Jon’s cloudy, stormy eyes. He’s apologizing and daring Dick to to tell him to stop and promising that he’s never going to let Damian go no matter _what_ Dick says, all at the same time. He’s afraid for Damian, the love in his heart is so utterly potent that it makes Dick want to cry because this is exactly what Damian _deserves_ to have in his life, this is exactly _who_ Damian deserves in his life. 

And then Jon’s gone, rocketing into a shattered window as Tim scales up the wall after him. 

Maya makes her way to the door, gesturing for Dick to follow her. There’s no one guiding the entrance, so they slip on in and start throwing open doors at random. There’s nothing but scattered medical supplies and empty beds. 

When they start up the stairs together, Maya finally breaks the silence. 

“You don’t have a problem with Jon and Dami, do you?” she asks, and the question sounds innocent enough- at face value. Dick can hear the threat winding around her words. “They love each other, and that’s enough, isn’t it?” 

“I don’t- I’m not against it. Hell- Jon is the kind of person Damian _deserves_ in his life, after all of the shit he’s been through. Don’t get me wrong, I’m _happy_ for him, I’m _so, so_ happy! It’s just-” 

“He’s our little brother,” Maya finishes for him. “He’s our little brother and we don’t want anyone to hurt him.” 

“ _Our-?_ ” 

Maya pauses on the landing of the second floor, turning around to look at Dick. “I don’t think I properly introduced myself,” she says, hints of a smile coiling around in the air, hanging off her words like ornaments on a Christmas tree. She’ll really got a way with driving home her point with her words. She lets her facial expressions bleed out into them because, with the mask on, you can’t see them yourself. “My name’s Maya Ducard, my father was Nobody up until the day my father killed him. I took over the business to kill Damian for what he’d done, and instead of dying- Damian gained a sister. I- I gained a little brother. I wouldn’t trade him for the world.” 

(It slips Dick’s mind that he’s wasting time again.) 

Dick chokes out a laugh. “Aw, man, what did Dami _do_ to get such amazing people in his life?” 

She shrugs, before they bleed out into the hallways. “He showed me that there’s more to life than killing and getting revenge. Because of him, I’ve never killed. Because of _him,_ I’m not a bad guy. I owe him a lot. So- Maybe they question is: What did _we_ do to get such an amazing _kid_ in our lives?” 

“I’ve been trying to answer that question for years.” 

The two split. Maya goes left and Dick goes right, throwing open every door he comes across. He hasn’t seen any person other than their team. You’d think that if they were holding _Damian_ \- who they presume to be Robin (and maybe Batman, if they’re smart)- they’d be careful and pack the place to the brim- Unless what they’re trying to do is be inconspicuous. Unless they’re trying to make sure that no one would show up here like they’ve done, unless they’re certain that Damian can’t fight back. 

There’s nothing in any of the rooms. Absolutely no sign of anything or anyone. 

This repeats for the third floor- three out of seven, Gotham General is a large hospital- and half of the fourth, before Jon comes shooting down while Dick’s shoving open another door. 

“We’ve got the room,” he heaves, “We haven’t gone in- Pyg’s probably in there and there were a few men in the two rooms surrounding it. Tim’s taking them down and if we don’t get back before he finishes, he’ll take down Pyg by himself.” He says it in a rush, as if Tim yelled at him to leave and all he wants to do is get back to Tim’s side to help Damian. Dick nods, and as he starts tearing towards the staircase, Jon follows close. “Maya’s already gone up. Lift your arms.” 

Dick does as he’s told, and Jon slips his arms back under his armpits and lifts him up. They move fast, fast enough that when they find the room Tim’s trying to break into, he’s only just wrapping his hand around the knob. 

“-Two,” Maya’s saying, “one-” 

Tim yanks open the door to reveal Pyg. He’s pulling off a blood stained glove, placing it onto the bloodied tray beside him. It’s covered in equally as red tools and a loose stitches string. Behind him is a curtain, drawn to hide whatever’s behind it. Dick knows what’s behind it, so the curtain’s purpose is redundant and unneeded. 

Pyg looks up when the door slams against the wall, his eyes gleaming behind his pig mask. “Sorry, visiting hours aren’t until eight a.m. tomorrow,” Pyg says. His voice is laced with a sick pleasure. “I haven’t finished up with the patient. You’ll have to come back later.” 

With one fell swoop, Jon’s in the room and slamming into Pyg. He hefts the villain over his shoulder and basically tosses him into Dick. Dick sidesteps and grins when Pyg slams into the ground. Jon’s shoulders, now that Dick’s looking at him, are so much less tense. He’s switched his breathing pattern to something a lot more slow- it matches what Dick remembers Damian’s heartbeat to be. (Damian’s always had a softer, slower heartbeat than most. When Dick first found out, he’d been panicking at the fact that Damian’s heart might have been failing.) 

Maya slams her elbow into Pyg’s face, breaking his mask and managing to knock him out. It’s surprisingly easy. That, or Maya’s just really strong. Considering what Dick’s seen from her, it’s likely that she _is_ really strong. 

Jon reaches for the curtain as Tim reaches for Dick’s hand. He squeezes tight, trying to let Dick know that he’s about to unravel at any moment now. That’s no good, because Jon’s going to loose it too, and Dick’s not sure that he can hold himself together either. He hopes Maya can remain steady for them. Heaven knows _someone_ needs to be. 

Dick’s waiting for Jon to utter _two,_ but instead, Jon _tears_ open the curtain. Dick can hear the _exact_ moment his breath is stolen from his lungs, knows that’s the moment that Jon takes in the picture before him, because Dick goes through the same thing. 

Damian lays on the table, bleary, red eyes staring forward at the ceiling. There’s thick straps that hold him down to the table, crossing over his chest and his legs. They’re around his wrists, too, preventing him from moving them any. It didn’t really _stop_ him, his wrists are red and torn from yanking at his restaurants. He turns his head when Jon pulls back the curtain, glaring something that _bleeds_ rage. When he sees that it’s Jon, his face immediately softens. 

He lets his head fall back onto the table. Tears leak from his eyes and stream down to his temples and ears. 

The whole moment is ruined by the sick grin that’s been carved into his face and the laughs that rack his body. 

Just like with Joker’s men, the corners of his lips up to his ears has been sliced in two. It’s stitched together professionally, guaranteeing it’ll heal. Dick knows it’ll leave a scar. This whole experience will leave a scar across his face and a scar on his brain and Dick won’t be here to pick up the pieces. 

Tim surges forward, dropping Dick’s hand, and starts at the restraints as Jon lets his hands gently drift to Damian’s face. “You’re okay,” he whispers, “you’re okay, we’re here now, okay? You’re okay.” He lets his forehead rest against Damian’s. “I’m here.” 

Damian says something that Dick can’t make out. 

Whatever it is, it makes Tim choke on air. “Don’t talk,” he says. “Okay? Please don’t talk.” 

With his now free hands, Damian reaches out and grabs at Tim’s. (Dick’s hand feels empty.) “I have to,” he wheezes out. Damian’s voice is absolutely _wrecked._ It’s like he’d wasted it screaming.

Tim’s voice is no louder than a whisper when he replies. “I know,” he says, “I know you do.” 

“Let’s get you home,” Jon breaks in. “Everyone should have dealt with the break in by now. Do you think you can stand?” 

Damian nods, but everyone in the room sees right through it. Maya pushes past Dick- (Dick can’t seem to move, why can’t he make himself move)- and helps Tim ease Damian onto Jon’s back. Damian buries his face into the crook of Jon’s neck. Dick can’t tell if the shake of his shoulders is from sobs or the laughing gas he’s obviously high on. Maybe it’s a mix of both. The last time Dick had gotten a good dose of it, he’d curled up in his room and let his head rest in the space between his knees. He’d cried, the smile on his lips splitting his face in two. 

Damian had crawled into Dick’s room when the clock was nearing midnight. “ _Grayson?_ ” he’d uttered, pausing at the door. “ _Pennyworth told me to come check on you._ ” Dick had known that Alfred hadn’t sent Damian down- Alfred had popped in an hour earlier to see how Dick was doing. He opened his arms all the same and Damian allowed himself to be pulled into the embrace. 

Dick’s arms itch to do the same now. 

Instead, he finds himself kneeling down beside Pyg and snapping cuffs on his wrists. He grabs at the collar of Pyg’s shirt. When he looks back into the room, he sees Maya, holding Damian’s head to her shoulders. She’s muttering something into his hair. Tim’s sifting through the cupboards, a bottle of what probably is painkillers lying in the palm of his hand. 

Eventually, Tim’s got everything he needs. He waves for Jon and Maya to follow him. Dick pulls Pyg behind him as he falls into step with the group, letting his grip turn his knuckles white. 

Once Tim and Damian are settled in the front seat of the truck, Dick and Jon climb into the trunk with Pyg. Maya lingers long enough to make sure that Pyg’s not going to wake up, before she slides into the driver's seat and starts up the truck. “Drive safely,” Jon warns. “Slowly.” 

“Those words aren’t in my vocabulary,” Maya says. 

She starts the truck. Everyone pretends not to notice how she slows around turns and avoids the rubble in the middle of the road like the plague. 

Dick spends the ride sinking into the metal and hoping it’ll swallow him up. His eyes drift up to Damian in the front seat more times than he can count. He wants to pull him into an embrace and never let him go, he wants to whisper overused words of comfort into his baby brother’s ears, tell him it’s all going to be okay as he says _I love you_ over and over. He can’t do that, not for this Damian, because this one has Tim and Jon and Maya to help him stand on his own two feet when he needs them and- 

“Richard,” Damian calls, voice soft and low and full of pain. It’s scratchy and wheezy, too. Dick doesn’t really get how he can make it sound both soft and rough. It’s bubbly, swayed by the lingering effects of the Joker gas. And, Dick’s never liked being called _Richard,_ but Damian makes it sound okay, somehow. 

When Dick’s eyes finally trail up, he’s met with Damian, who’s twisted completely in his seat. Damian sticks his arm through the window and Dick takes it without a second thought. He’s trying his best to frown, even with the smile carved into his face.

“Richard,” Damian repeats. “Go home.” 

Dick lets his gaze waiver for only a moment, trying to find _something_ in Damian's eyes. "I _can't,_ " he says. "I _can't_ leave you. Not yet."

"You don't deserve to see this," Damian says. 

See _what?_ See his brother hurt? See the stitches in his face, marking him as another one of the Joker's victims? (Jason is going to hate, hate, hate when he finds out. There is going to be nothing that will be able to cease the burning in his heart when he finds out. Honestly, Dick wouldn't even stop that hate in his chest, if he stuck around.) 

The truck rolls to a stop, the ride back proving shorter than the ride to. 

Bruce is still out there, talking to the Joker. The Joker’s goons are scattered around, all having been taken down by Batman. The Joker’s throne has been carded off to the side, forcing him to stand on his own. (What a tragedy, Dick’s mind whispers.) They’re both shouting- Bruce’s fists are curled and Joker’s smile has that crazy gleam to it. 

Maya swings out of the truck and helps Damian out. Tim reaches into the glove department and pulls out a bundle, which Damian tears into. He puts on the green Robin mask and the cape, but tosses the uniform back to Tim, who shoves it right back where he got it. His face is grim as he turns to Jon. “Bring Pyg inside,” he says, and it sounds like a death sentence. “I’m sure the Titans have sorted everything out, in there.” 

“He’s really gonna do it?” Jon asks. 

“Are you going to love him any less?” Tim counters.

“Never,” Jon says, and it feels like an _oath._

Dick has no idea what’s going on, or what's happening, or what they’re talking about. It’s becoming a recurring theme that he can’t wrap his head around. 

(How funny. Dick’s so used to being in the loop, that he forgets how the roles have changed. Now, Damian’s taking over the mantle of Batman and he’s _the_ loop.) 

Dick clambers out of the trunk and follows Damian over to Bruce’s side. Maya and Tim hang back, probably used to letting Batman take over everything. Probably. (He doesn’t know, but- But this is _his_ Bruce and Dick knows what _his_ Bruce will do. That’s enough of a foundation for Dick to settle on.) 

“I’m really liking your new _vibe,_ Tweety-Bird,” Joker grovels out, and- 

And that’s when Dick realizes that _Damian’s still walking forward._

Damian’s _still walking forward_ and he’s got a batarang in his hand- _where did he get that from, who did he get it from, how-_ and he’s not stopping as he gets closer to the Joker, even when the manic’s eyes light up in some kind of realization that Dick hasn't had hit him yet. Bruce takes a step forward, too, because _he’s_ caught on, but then Tim is there, gripping his forearm and holding him back. 

“Let him go,” Tim says. “Let him do this.” 

Dick doesn’t catch what Bruce says. 

_Oh,_ he thinks. 

The world breaks down. The moment comes to him in pieces. 

Tim reaches for Dick’s wrist and presses his belt, before reaching back to do the same thing to Bruce’s. They both flash a sickly blue, up until they sync together and pulse in tandem. Damian rears back his arm, blade shining in his hand. His eyes are alight with a dead _fire_ that Dick’s only seen once. His lips are twisted to mimic the staples in his skin. The Joker doesn’t move an inch, he watches Damian with careful eyes and open arms, mouth moving to create words Dick can’t hear. 

“This is for Jason,” Damian says. “This is for my _family_ and my _father_ and all of the other people you’ve let _die_. This is for Gotham and her citizens that you’ve forced her to let go of.” 

Tim’s grip around Dick’s wrist tightens. “Don’t come back here,” he says. “Never come back here. And, no matter _what you do,_ _don’t_ let Gotham fall like this. Don’t _die_ on us. Even if it’s to save one of us. _Promise me._ ”

“I can’t do that,” Dick says. “Not if it’s for you.” (Not if it’s for _Damian._ ) 

Damian’s still not _stopping_ and the Joker’s still not _moving_. It makes it all worse now that Dick knows what’s actually happening. 

“For Gotham,” Bruce says, at the same time, voice gravely and subdued. (It sounds like the war cry they all screamed. It sends a shiver down Dick's back.)

“And don’t go looking for Damian. Not in the past. Not in the future. You’ll get him back- But you’ll only get the _chance_ when you finally let him _rest,_ ” Tim continues. He reaches up and turns Dick’s head away, so he’s looking straight at Tim instead of staring away at Damian and the Joker. “It’s going to get better. That pain in your chest will fade and you’ll feel ready to move on, and then he’ll be back in your lives with his stupid, shitty, dickish personality that you love so much.” 

He pauses and licks his lips, eyes flickering to Damian. They come back, meeting Bruce’s eyes instead. “But just do one thing for me,” he says. “Tell younger me to stop being such an asshole to him. Tell him to talk to Damian. Tell him that Damian never hated him. Make their relationship better for me. That’s all I need you to do.” 

The portal pops up behind them- the same inky blue that threw them here in the first place. Bruce steps back towards it, but keeps his eyes forward. Tim pushes Dick back just enough that he can feel the tug on his skin and the wind in his hair that speaks of a _home_ that doesn’t have Damian in it. He can’t just leave, this doesn’t feel _right._ He’s just _leaving_ both his brothers when they _need_ a Richard Grayson there to keep them steady. 

“This,” Damian says, and his voice doesn’t waver. The absoluteness in his voice shakes Damian straight to the bone. “ _This_ is for what you did to _me!_ ” 

He lunges. 

Tim shoves Dick into the portal. 

(The last thing he hears is Damian’s war cry and the Joker’s high pitched _laugh,_ the last thing he hears is Jon’s sharp intake of breath and Maya’s soft _it’s okay._ ) 

He crosses through the portal to fresh, smoggy Gotham air and a bright blue, sunny afternoon. The manor stands to the side, perfectly trimmed bushes surrounding him and Bruce. The portal behind them fades. Dick sucks in a breath, lets himself drop to his knees. His fist hits the ground, stirring up dirt. “ _Fuck,_ ” he hisses out. “ _Fuck!_ ” 

“I’ll recalibrate the portal to take us back in time, and wind up a return trip. It shouldn’t take too long,” Bruce says. 

Dick lets his forehead rest on the dirt. “Okay,” he says, “okay.” 

And that’s that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do i have regrets? yeah. 
> 
> :)) 
> 
> i didn't bother to beta read this myself, or to edit, so. you get this! the ending was weak! but! i hope you don't hate me for like ever thanks
> 
> btw, if ur confused (which u prob are bcuz im Very Bad at this), it's implied at the end that damian kills the joker for his Crimes against Humanity
> 
> OH ALSO YES THERE'S GOING TO BE MORE INSTALLMENTS IN THIS, OKAY. prob more on this timeline (w/out past bruce and dick) and some more time shenanigans with our main boys b and d. because they're Stupid okay. okay.
> 
> okay?


End file.
